


The Things We Can't Fix

by Inky



Series: Inky's Yeehaw AU Tributes [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 01:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky/pseuds/Inky
Summary: A gift for@buffshiro, who really pours their heart & soul into this stuff and does it at no expense to us. Inspired by their call for angst on twitter. Wanted to write a little special something about healthy boundaries, respect for one other, and warm resolutions. Thank you for the yeehaw AU, tofu!!-elle





	The Things We Can't Fix

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buffshiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffshiro/gifts).



It takes about three years for Keith to grow accustomed to Shiro’s specific mannerisms. Despite his open affection and all of those warm smiles, there are still things about Shiro’s person that he keeps extremely close to his (wonderfully broad) chest. The man has his demons, the quiet things he keeps to himself out of fear that Keith will leave him for it. A few months into their relationship, Keith starts to understand that this is Shiro’s unique way of coping with the cards he has been dealt, and he stops trying to outright fix them for him. Even now, a month after their engagement, it pains him that there are some things that his unconditional love and support just won’t change.

Keith knows something bad happened the moment he hears Shiro pull into the driveway. He’d gone to bed hours ago, managed to get a few hours of sleep, but the sound of Shiro’s jeep rolling up through the gravel and pulling up next to the garage stirs him from rest. Rolling onto his back in bed, he groans and lifts his hand to his face, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He hears Shiro’s engine cut out, then the distinct sound of a slammed car door. Pausing with his hand frozen over his eyes, Keith strains to listen. Shiro’s being louder tonight, sharper. Even the pattern of his footsteps has changed; purposeful, like he’s trying to get into the house as soon as he possibly can.

Sitting up in bed, Keith yawns and lets the sheets pool in his lap. He listens to the creak of the screen door. Shiro lets it fall shut on its own, and it smacks against the doorframe loudly. Keith hears rummaging in the kitchen, the tinkling of bottles. Sighing, he turns in bed and settles his bare feet on the floor. Leaning forward, he puts his elbows on his knees and sits there for a moment, just listening. Now, Shiro’s being quiet again. Trying to hide whatever he’s doing, Keith is sure.

Keith finally stands, dressed in black shorts and an old NASA t-shirt with rips in the armpits and the decorative print almost completely rubbed off. Still fighting off the sleepiness in his eyes, Keith silently pulls the bedroom door open and squints against the light in the hall. He pads to the kitchen and pauses in the archway, hand braced on the frame as he looks.

A man who isn’t Shiro is standing in the kitchen. Well—no, it _is_ Shiro, technically. But it’s not the one Keith knows. There’s a vacant look in his eyes as he stands there, leaned up against the island counter. Keith can only see his profile from this angle, but there’s an unfamiliar rigidness in his face and the way he sets his jaw. There’s something dark in the way he just stares at the window above the sink.

He’s got a glass in his hand with about a shot and a half of whiskey in it, the bottle itself sitting beside him on the counter with the cap still off. Keith watches, frowning, as Shiro lifts the glass to his lips and knocks it all back in one go. He turns to pour himself another, but catches sight of Keith as he does and abruptly puts the glass down.

“Keith,” he sighs, and it doesn’t sound like Shiro at all. He tries putting his usual soft expression on, but it’s twisted up tighter than Keith’s seen it in a long time. Shiro is quiet, “Baby, please just go back to bed.”

“Y’know I can’t,” Keith says. He crosses his arms and leans against the archway as the warmth drains from Shiro’s face. He looks stormy, so Keith stays put for now. There’s no use getting into Shiro’s space right now when he so clearly doesn’t want it.

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro repeats, and now his voice sinks into an authoritative tone Keith very rarely hears. Like Shiro just flew in from another planet, another life. “I want to be left alone.”

Keith worries the inside of his cheek between his teeth, considering it. This is sneaking dangerously into territory Keith knows he has no business in. Fiancé or not, there are many things about Shiro’s life he still isn’t privy to, things Shiro wants to keep enshrouded in darkness and locked up tight. He feels an ache in his chest, because no matter how much he wants to shake all of this out of Shiro, he just... can’t.

“Go to bed,” Shiro commands again. His tone is still harsh, all military and no love. It kills Keith to obey, but he knows at this point his presence is only going to make things worse.

“You know I love you, yeah?” is all Keith says, barely above a whisper. He looks Shiro straight in the eye and Shiro stares back at him. Shiro’s the one to break eye contact, looking down at his glass and holding it so tightly that Keith’s afraid it’s going to shatter in his grasp. Keith continues, “I love you, ‘n I’m here for you when you’re ready. Goodnight.”

“I love you too,” Shiro manages. His voice breaks and he hangs his head. Walking away from him right now is like pulling teeth, but there’s nothing he can do. Keith pushes off the archway and returns to their bedroom, where he sits on the edge of the bed for a good fifteen minutes, wide awake and listening to faint sniffling from the kitchen. It takes a lot of willpower not to rush back in there, but above even his own fretting, he respects Shiro deeply. Heaving a sigh, Keith lies down and pulls the sheets up to his chin. He waits.

Shiro doesn’t come to bed that night.

-*-

The sun is just beginning to rise and bleed red over the horizon as Keith comes back inside, covered in sweat and dust from the animal feed. With the livestock fed, hay replaced, and stables cleaned, he’s fixing to finally get some breakfast in his belly. However...

He toes off his boots so he doesn’t make too much noise in the hall and sneaks to the living room. He peeks in to find Shiro still in the same place he was when Keith woke up: curled up on the couch with the knitted throw over his body, his face pressed against the back cushions. The coffee Keith had left there for him at around five in the morning sits untouched, now cold.

Keith sighs and turns away. Shiro never lets him out of the house to work until he’s woken up and given Keith his morning kiss. These are special circumstances, however, and Keith refuses to be offended by it. He forces himself to walk away from the living room to instead go and take a shower. He thinks about Shiro—how can he not?—as he scrubs the dust out of his hair. As he washes, he barely hears the door open, and with his eyes closed he doesn’t see the shadow passing over the shower curtain.

“Morning.”

Shiro’s sudden voice spooks the hell out of Keith, who jumps and snaps his eyes open. The sting of the shampoo makes him hiss and squeeze his eyes shut again, but he manages a quiet chuckle.

“Y’scared me. Mornin’, sweet tea,” he falls easily into the petname, heart swelling in his chest. He pauses, wondering if he should bring up last night, but he decides against it. Instead, “You were sleepin’ like a log this morning so I didn’t wanna wake you. I’m makin’ breakfast here inna minute, feel like anything special?”

“You know I’m not mad at you, right?”

Keith’s faint smile fades and he tips his head back, rinsing the shampoo from his hair. When he opens his eyes, Shiro’s shadow is standing right outside the curtain. Keith can tell he’s looking down at the floor.

“You _know_ that, right?” Shiro asks again, quieter. Vulnerable. Keith’s frown deepens and he lifts his hand, touching the shower curtain. Shiro meets him halfway, also touching the shower curtain. Keith feels the ridge of his engagement ring through the plastic.

“As long as you know I’m always here for you,” Keith reassures him. “And there ain’t nothing you can say or do that’ll change that.”

Shiro’s hand falters, falling away from Keith’s touch. _Ah_. Keith wonders if that is what this is all about.

“I’m gonna marry you,” Keith reminds him. “All’a you. Every single part of you.”

Shiro doesn’t answer for a suspiciously long time, long enough for Keith to edge the shower curtain back to take a look.

He’s just standing there, looking down, tears silently rolling down his cheeks. Keith watches him, distress written in the frown on his lips and the furrow in his brow. Shiro breathes in shakily and swallows, his throat making a noise Keith can barely hear over the spray of the showerhead. Lifting a hand to his face, Shiro rubs a tear away, but it’s quickly replaced by one, two, three more.

“You’re _killin’_ me, darlin’,” Keith murmurs. “You’re really killin’ me.”

Shiro manages to say some sort of apology, half-garbled and thick with emotion. Something or someone hurt Shiro. Bad. It takes all of Keith’s effort not to hop out of the shower and drive all the way to that damn club himself, soaking wet with his dick out, and raze the place to the ground. His hand grips the shower curtain and he watches, helpless, as Shiro turns from him and leaves the bathroom. Still weeping. Still dealing with whatever demon this is on his own.

He half-asses the rest of his shower and dries himself off. Pulling on some sweatpants, he leaves the bathroom and immediately looks for Shiro. He doesn’t have to look long; as he passes the window at the end of the hall, he looks outside and sees Shiro walking out towards the rabbit pen. For a long moment, Keith just stands there as Shiro unlocks the gate and slips inside. He sits down in the center of the pen with a basket full of lettuce and rabbit feed, letting the bunnies come to him. Keith can still tell he’s upset just by the slope of his shoulders.

Well, Keith isn’t going to falter now. If half of their team is down for the count, he has to carry the torch for both of them. He turns from the window, content to just let Shiro cope the way he wants—for now. He goes to the kitchen and grabs eggs from the fridge. He’ll make them breakfast, he’ll make Shiro’s eggs just the way he likes them, he’ll go easy on the butter just for him and add some spinach to his scrambled eggs—

Whatever it takes. What his unconditional love and support can’t fix, he’ll do his damndest to fill the void with what he _can_ do.

Shiro comes in shortly after, feathers sticking out of his clothes and littering his hair. He still looks upset, not meeting Keith’s eyes, but his lashes are dry and the tear tracks are gone from his face. It’s a start.

“Come and sit,” Keith says, stopping Shiro before he can slink away. He doesn’t look up from the dishes in the sink as he scrubs at the egg pan. “I made you breakfast.”

“I’m... not very hungry.”

Keith looks over his shoulder, watching Shiro standing in the archway and staring at the plate of food Keith had just set out for him. He feels a prickle of irritation under his skin.

“I wasn’t asking,” he finally says, firm and absolute. Shiro flinches and Keith sets his jaw. “I’ll give you your space, but you gotta meet me halfway, darlin’, I’m not gonna let you skip meals. You don’t gotta talk. Just eat.”

To his relief, Shiro doesn’t try to argue. He shuffles to the island counter and sits down at the barstool. Moving slowly, like he’s in a tank of molasses, he picks up his fork and nibbles at his breakfast. Exasperated, Keith sighs and turns back to the dishes, letting the running water and scrubbing drown out the sound of Shiro pushing his food around.

When he finishes, he dries his hands and turns to look. Shiro’s barely touched his plate, and now his fork is down and he’s got his head in his hand, covering his eyes. There’s fresh dampness on his cheeks and his mouth is twisted up tight, like he’s trying to lock away a sob.

“God _damnit_ , Shiro,” Keith says, whipping the dish towel down. It comes out harsher than he means it to and Shiro puts his other hand over his face, too. Now, he _does_ sob, and the sound is... terrible. He just does it once, but it’s heart-wrenching and awful, like it came from deep down in his gut. Distressed and hurt and angry, Keith raises his voice a little, “How am I s’posed to stand by and watch you like this, huh? You’re scarin’ the living hell outta me!”

Shiro sniffs loudly, forcing himself to calm down, and pushes his hands up into his hair. He cards his fingers through it, forcing it out of his face. Feathers rain down from his head.

“Did someone grab you at work? Did something happen?” Keith presses. “You tell me who hurt you, an’ I’ll find ‘em myself.”

Shiro doesn‘t answer. Keith feels anger swell hot and boiling up in his chest and he wants to scream about it, scream and yell until he’s blue in the face, but with all of his willpower he forces himself to take a deep breath.

He remembers they’re a team. He reminds himself that he’s going to marry this man, every part of him, even the parts he can’t fix. Even the parts of Shiro that make him want to rip his own hair out.

When he knows he’s calm enough not to yell or snap, he comes to the island counter and walks around until he’s at Shiro’s side. Reaching for him, he puts a hand on his back and rubs up and down.

“I don’t know what this is about, an’ at this point I guess I don’t need to know if you’re that set on not tellin’ me,” he starts, quiet. Shiro closes his eyes and just keeps his hands on his head. Keith continues, “But you listen to me. I’ll say it as many times as it takes. I am on _your_ side. There ain’t nothing you can say or do that’ll take me off your team. I’m fixin’ta spend the rest of my life with you, no matter what.”

Shiro doesn’t respond, so Keith takes him by the chin and turns his face so he’s looking up at him. It’s enough to make Shiro open his eyes, still bloodshot and glassy with tears.

“Did someone say something to you?” Keith asks in a whisper. His thumb strokes a tear away from Shiro’s cheek. “Did someone make you doubt me?”

Shiro sniffs and shakes his head. He pulls away from Keith’s touch and Keith reluctantly lets him, his hand falling to his side.

“I don’t doubt you,” he finally says. His voice is broken and still wavering. He looks down at his now cold eggs. “But someone did say something.”

Keith’s face darkens and he considers the idea of going down to the club and burning it to the ground again. Sopping wet with his dick out. He’ll get back in the shower if he has to. But he takes a step back, reminds himself that this isn’t what Shiro needs. He doesn’t need vigilante justice, he just needs... Keith.

“Just... a private client. Filling my head with... bad thoughts. He was just talking out loud, I don’t think he meant it maliciously, but I felt—“ Shiro cuts off, his voice becoming rocky again. He takes a moment to collect himself, “—dirty, and undeserving. All over again.”

“You know that’s not true,” Keith sighs. Shiro nods, lips going tight and pinched again as his eyes start welling up again.

“I know. I know you’re sick of all of... this.”

He gestures vaguely to himself.

“No. I’m _not_ ,” Keith says, urgency in his voice. He takes Shiro’s left hand and makes a point to stoop his head and kiss him right where his engagement ring sits on his finger. “Think I’d marry someone I was sick of? Really? Think I’m some sorta masochist?”

Shiro blubbers out a laugh, eyebrows raising as if he surprised himself with it. He looks back up at Keith, blinking with those soft doe eyes. Keith can’t help the warm smile that rises to his lips.

“Think I’d marry someone who I couldn’t love fully? Every little piece? Every hair on his head? All his fingers and toes and eyelashes?”

Keith lifts his hand and strokes it through Shiro’s hair. Shiro melts underneath him, tilting his head forward as if he’s begging to be touched more.

“I don’t think you’re dirty or undeserving. I know how sometimes shit the clients say get you thinkin’ bad thoughts an’ you stew on ‘em like your life depends on it. But I’m tellin’ you, stop lettin’ strangers get into your head. I’m _never_ givin’ up on you.”

The barstool scrapes across the floor as Shiro shoots to his feet. In less than a second, Keith is being smothered by his fiancé’s thick muscle. Shiro hugs him tight enough for it to hurt, but Keith wraps his arms around his waist and just lets Shiro cling to him with all of his might. He runs his hand soothingly up and down his back, smiling as he feels Shiro finally unravel for him.

“Gonna make you my husband,” Keith murmurs into Shiro’s shoulder. He starts swaying, waddling backwards at the same time and pulling them out of the kitchen. Together, they swing and sway down the hall. “Make you all mine.”

He turns his head, kissing along the curve of Shiro’s neck as he just holds onto him and sways with him towards the bedroom.

“In sickness an’ in health,” Keith continues to list. He glances behind him to make sure they’re not going to run into anything. “For better or for worse—“

The backs of Keith’s legs hit the mattress and he lowers himself down. Coiling an arm around Shiro’s tapered waist, he pulls him down, too. Rolling Shiro onto his back, Keith settles a hand on the center of his chest and pulls himself up next to him, his other hand propping his head up as he lies on his side.

“’Til death do us part,” he murmurs. He leans down to kiss Shiro’s lips. “I do.”

Shiro closes his eyes and slowly, _slowly_ returns to Keith. Warm, happy. Full of light and love. The sharp corners of his face melts away, replaced with peace. When he opens his eyes again, he smiles and it is as serene as starlight.

“There you are,” Keith whispers. He pecks Shiro’s lips again.

“I’m sorry for... acting the way I did,” Shiro apologizes. Keith shakes his head and peppers kisses along the side of his mouth.

“Mm. Nothin’ a li’l love can’t fix.”

“I made you worry.”

“I knew you’d come around. You always do.”

Keith lifts his head and smiles, stroking Shiro’s cheek and drying the last of the dampness from his skin with his fingers.

“M’sorry that I pried it outta you,” Keith hums. “Was just too much watchin’ you cry like that.”

“I’m... alright now. I will be.”

“Yeah,” Keith whispers. He smiles and slips his hand under Shiro’s shirt, stroking and caressing his side and belly. Shiro lets out a soft sigh, shifting on the bed and becoming warm and soft under Keith’s touch. Keith chuckles, “I missed you in bed last night.”

Shiro grins and lifts his left hand to stroke the backs of his knuckles down Keith’s cheek.

“Well, I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> [You can find the Yeehaw AU and @buffshiro's artwork here.](https://twitter.com/buffshiro)
> 
>  
> 
> Special thanks to [papirini](https://twitter.com/papirini) for their beta reading work. 
> 
>  [You can follow me on twitter here.](https://twitter.com/inkweaving)


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